


My soul can feel yours in the dark

by worstpersoninyourfandom



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Backstory, Blind Character, Getting Together, M/M, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-31 03:01:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21058526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worstpersoninyourfandom/pseuds/worstpersoninyourfandom
Summary: Little backstory for our favorite OAP couple I started two or three years ago.





	1. Chapter 1

Chirrut Imwe never considered himself lucky, and an impartial observer to his early life would have to agree. The only child of older parents, he lost his mother early on to the seasonal diseases that would return every wet season in the desert city, and his father soon after in a mining accident. The over-crowded state orphanage he spent the second 5 years of his life in had little in the way of support for an energetic, inquisitive blind boy. He felt stilted, trapped by circumstance, until an older boy he shared a room with offered an out.

“Just down past the stall with spun sugar, then turn immediately right. It’s a tight ally, sort of damp? Third door on the right, knock seven times, then wait.” Cold hands pushed a tightly-wrapped parcel into his hands.

“You know they’ll never stop a poor kid with a stick, there’s really no danger for you.” Chirrut hesitated, head cocked in an unknowing imitation of the taller boy stooping over him.

“But what’s in it for me?” he questioned, “I know these guys pay you well, you think I’m asleep but I heard it all. I’m just asking for a cut of the profits, for my labor.”

“How’s… uh... 5% sound?”

“Wow, I’d sure hate for this delivery to be late, but the smell of that spun sugar might just be too much for a poor starving orphan like me. What if I just pass out right there? Right next to the horrified stall keeper? Maybe she’ll take pity on me--“

“Fine! I’ll give you 15%!”

“In coins, so I can count it?”

“Yes, please just go.”

Chirrut knew the parcel contained kyber, could feel the hum through the layers of cloth. He remembered it from the piece his father had kept on the doorframe at home, touching it as he left for work, a small prayer to the Force to start the day. He also knew that the illegal trade of the crystals was draining the reserves under the city, putting honest laborers like his father out of work, but, then again, beggars can’t be choosers. And a beggar he truly was, asking for the pity of strangers, taking coins pressed to his palms to the street vendor who sold steaming buns. They reminded him of his mother’s, and they broke up the monotony of state-issued rations.

By the time 2 years had passed, and the crystal-smugglers had changed locations countless times, rival gangs were onto Chirrut’s act. He got clever, taking longer and more circuitous routes to the drop-off locations, grew his hair out as a disguise on the recommendation of his roommate. Still, they followed him, and on one run featuring a particularly heavy payload he found himself pinned against a jagged stone wall, out of the sun of the busy main street. Rough hands took the package, and his stick. The unmistakable sound of it snapping followed.

“You played the game well,” a voice, accompanied by hot breath, whispered in his ear. “But now we’ve won.”

“That’s what you think!” He bit back, struggling against the grip that held him. “Let me go and I’ll take you! One on one! I don’t care! Let’s go!”

“Sure thing, kiddo,” the smuggler chuckled. The arms encircling Chirrut dropped, but were quickly replaced by a fist to his stomach, followed by hard kicks to the ribs when he fell to the floor. He would hesitate to call it blacking out if there was never any light to begin with, but it was soon after that he lost coconsciousness.

When Chirrut came to, there was a ringing in his ears, a dull ache at the back of his skull, and a cool cloth pressed to his forehead. Slowly, the ringing resolved itself into the hum of kyber, much stronger than the faint pulse from the smugglers packages. Still, it was soothing, and soon faded into the background as the dull pain became more pronounced, and harder to ignore. Reaching his hand back, Chirrut felt sticky blood in short hair.

“Hello, there,” came a voice from a above him, and the cool cloth withdrew. Surprised to hear someone so close, Chirrut sucked in a sharp breath, rolling his head to the source.

“Don’t be concerned because of my face,” the voice continued, “I assure you that while my eyes may not work, my hands are capable, and will have you patched up in no time.” Still a in a bit of shock, all Chirrut could do was stutter out a question.

“Y-your f-f-face?”

“Caught the edge of some blaster fire a while back, it’s not contagious. Though I’ve been assured it’s not a pleasant sight.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Chirrut said, finding his words, “I’m blind too.”

“Oh!” the healer exclaimed, “The force works in mysterious ways.”

Though he wasn’t very badly hurt, just two broken ribs and scattered bruises along with the cut on his head, Chirrut did everything he could to prolong his stay in the medical wing of the temple where he had awoken. He liked the ever-present hum of kyber, the chatter from Kes, the healer, and the food she brought to him and the few other patients. Rices and curries, dumplings and broths, and occasionally pastries and other confections came up from the temple’s kitchens, all better than the orphanage’s dry rations. He felt a bit guilty for using the temple’s resources without giving anything in return, but when he voiced his concerns to the young monk with a broken leg who occupied the bed next to his he was met with laughter.

“This is a temple! Part of following the light side of the Force is to uphold ideals of charity. It’s not really charity if we ask for something in payment, is it?”

Still, the bit of doubt remained, and though it was mainly selfish desire that kept Chirrut in the temple, he did quite like Kes and wanted to make her job easier. Once she deemed his ribs healed enough to allow for movement, Chirrut began to fetch and carry for her. While he had been bed rest, trying not to move his ribs, the young monk had read aloud to keep all the patients entertained. Enraptured with tales of Jedi Knights, and curious about Kes’s claim that the Force brought him to her, he began to consider his a more permanent place in the temple.

Kes saw this, in her own way, and when Chirrut was clearly well, antsy to move and be free of the medical wing, she offered him a room of his own in the temple.

“Go collect your belongings,” she told him, “I could use an assistant.”

Collecting his belonging consisted of taking a bag from his former roommate (who felt bad that his gang connections had resulted in harm to his friend) and putting in it 4 shirts, two pairs of pants, and a large sweater that had belonged to his father. With that, he left his old life behind, and returned to the temple to begin again.


	2. Chapter 2

Baze Malbus wasn’t born on Jedha. His mother, Lyn, immigrated from Kashyyyk to make a home on Coruscant. She worked her way up, and gave her only son the best life they could. She instilled in him the same strength that she attributed her success to, and in peace time, that was enough. Baze did his best to make her proud. He excelled in school, was quiet and respectful, and attracted plenty of nice young women of all species. Still, he felt trapped. The high walls of skyscrapers surrounded him always, and the city air pressed down with oppressive heat in summer and smog in winter. He would dream of green and of wide open spaces.

When Baze was 15 Lyn took him to Takodana. It was something of a status symbol to travel inter-planetarily, but Lyn took pride in that she didn’t need such markers of success. Still, she saw how Baze thrived in the short time they spent on Kashyyyk every other year cycle, saw how he would close in on himself when they returned, staying in his room and leaving only for school or to go to temple. She wanted to give him more of the galaxy, more open land and forests and lakes. She just wished she could give him more. After, Baze’s dreams were filled with the blue skies and green fields of Takodana, and beach he had gone running on each morning.

When he was 16, Baze took a job apprenticing for a mechanic. His mother had started off in the city in a factory, building cargo ships. She was proud her son would have the same appreciation for the tech that surrounded them in the city. Still, the first time she left Coruscant to travel to Kashyyyk alone nearly broke her heart.

“Next time,” she said, pressing a kiss to Baze’s brow. “They need mechanics on Kashyyyk too.”

“I know,” Baze told her. “I’ll find my way.”

That way, as it turned out, was the military. The mech he worked for had served 5 years and when there was little to do around the shop he would talk about the places he had been, the things he had seen and the people he had met. The Republic had been at peace for so long, and the even the outer rim was quiet. The Republic army functioned more as an intersystem police force, breaking up small disputes, responding to natural disasters, and protecting ships from outlaws in the outer rims. Though they still trained, there was little in the way of real battles to be fought. It was a noble cause, but it was also the way for farmers, slaves, and city children to escape their beginnings. Baze enlisted after he had completed his schooling. He knew his skills as a mechanic would most likely place him doing infrastructure, but anything was worth it to leave the pit he found himself in. The pay was shit but he didn’t need it, he was only going to return it to his mother. She, in turn, supported him reluctantly, grieved to see him leave.

Though he was somewhat lacking in his devotion to the Force, Baze went to temple his last night on Coruscant. He lit a candle by the alter, and settled into meditation. He prayed for the heath of his mother, his relatives on Kashyyyk, his mechanic teacher. He prayed for their safety while he could not be with them. He felt somewhat embarrassed, because he knew that they could all care for themselves. His mother was a former martial artist, and there was no real danger coming to any of them anyway, besides missing him. Worried that he was ignoring all else in pursuit of his own, selfish desires, Baze began to shake his head, pulling from meditation. A monk sat in front of him, watching.

“What troubles you, Malbus?” she asked, reaching out her hands.

“The future,” he told her truthfully, taking the hands. “And what is in my own mind. How do I know that I am making the right choice? Can I trust my own judgement?”

“I can tell you are restless,” she told him, “and eager for change. Still, there are roots that tie you here. Though the future may not be known, the Force may offer us glimpses, if we only know how to ask. Would you like to ask?” Baze had always harbored skepticism of the temple mystics. But, he was respectful and maybe just a bit curious. He trusted in the Force, even if he did not interact with it, and he wondered what answer he would find from his questions.

“Yes, if that’s alright.”

She took his hands and led him up the stairs to the alter. From within her robes, the monk removed a chubby stick of incense. Once it was lit, she placed it in front of her, on the ground and motioned to Baze to sit. As he did, she instructed him to hold his questions in his mind, and chant with her.

“I am one with the Force, the Force is with me…” Baze’s words flowed with the monk’s, and the air around them grew heavy with incense smoke. Baze felt his mind move adrift, and tried to focus on his worries about the future. _Oh Force please tell me if I should leave here, if my reasons are pure. Tell me where my future lies. _He fell deeper, surrounded by smoke and soft noise.

When he opened his eyes the smoke was still there, but instead of the dim temple, he sat on a sandy beach. The sky was bright and clear overhead, and there were trees and grass stretched out around him. At first the sight filled him with joy, until he began to take in the rest of the scene. The smoke that hung in the air was not from incense, but rather from blaster fire echoing around him. He was not sitting on the beach, but rather kneeling, cradling something in his lap. Not something, someone. Looking down, Baze found himself holding the hand of a man. He looked older, with pale eyes and blood on his face. He was struggling to breath. Baze found himself leaning down, to where the man was beginning to speak.

“Baze…” was all he heard, before he was back in the temple, still chanting with the priest.

Startled, Baze dropped the hands of the hands of the monk and stopped his chanting. The monk noticed this, and slowly opened her eyes.

“Well, what have you seen?” She asked.

“I was… not here,” Baze explained, “I was on a beach, in a battle.”

“What do you think it means?” the monk prompted.

“I’ve never seen battle like it, except in holos, never in life. Is that what’s coming?”

“It may or may not be, the Force is mysterious.”

“How do I know what to do then?”

“Think on it, you may find an answer.”

Baze returned to his house, climbed to the roof, and looked out over the dense city of the great city-planet. Smoke rose into the air around him, and traffic rushed below. He sighed, thinking of those first moments of calm in his vision, before the violence. There was fear in the vision too, fear separated from the blasters and noise. And somehow, under that fear was a feeling of love. It was all too confusing, and too short to really understand. The most important thing was that it was out there, off Coruscant. His future was out there, on some beach, holding a dying man. He had to go.

**Author's Note:**

> This is unfinished and will probably remain that way, but I thought I'd post it to see if anyone is interested in finishing/doing something with it. I did a whole bunch of Star Wars planet research, and it seems like a shame to let it go to waste.   
TY


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